I’m not, like, an expert on being cool or anything, but I think I’m still qualified to wager that staying at home to pack and then non-euphemistically bathe a cat on Saturday night is definitively not cool. This is what Graham and I did last night. Lessons learned from uncool experience:

– Bathing a cat will cause Graham to have an intense allergy attack, even when he is wearing thick dishwashing gloves and we are using “Dander Destroyer!” cat shampoo.

– Trimming cat dreads is difficult.

– Especially when you accidentally trim too close and take off a patch of skin, which, if you’re any kind of a decent person, will make you feel terrible and like you should just go kill yourself, even though you’re now treating the spot with Neosporin and the cat in question doesn’t seem to mind at all.

– Possibly because he’s used to dreadlocks, which are bad enough.

– I am going to buy clippers at Target today.

I don’t know how I managed to get one cat at about a year old who turned out to be the coolest ever, and another cat as a kitten who is a headcase mystery weirdo. I truly think that Izzy may be mentally retarded in some way, because there’s no other explanation for how he refuses to clean past his shoulders, got so fucking fat even though I feed them in exactly the right vet-recommended way (The Cat is fat, too, but the vet said he’s mostly a skeletal giant and within the right weight class for his size), and doesn’t seem to understand what normal contact is, even though he’s had 7 years to learn it. He doesn’t know how petting works, nor does he rub up against you like a regular cat; instead, he sort of just touches his face to your finger for a second and then moves away, either like he expects you to do all the work or maybe he’s just forgotten what he’s doing. Likely the latter, because like I said, he’s probably mentally retarded.